


How It Began

by CavannaRose



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Backstory, Bandits & Outlaws, Dwarves, F/M, Gods and Demigods, Human, Patrons, Tieflings, Warlocks, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-15 13:20:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17529497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose
Summary: Origin stories for my players.





	1. Philliped S. Crediver

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short story I wrote for one of my players, about an event from their backstory.

The sound of a clay mug shattering against the wood floor echoed through the mostly empty tavern, and the young lad winced, immediately dropping to gather up the scattered shards. Behind him, an aggrieved looking woman, with sparkling brown eyes and a longish nose that clearly indicated the pair were related, threw up her hands in disgust. “Philliped S. Crediver, what in the name of the gods has gotten into you today?” The youth spluttered, mumbling out a few half-formed words until he was interrupted by a tall man who swooped in, wrapping his arms around the woman’s waist and squeezing her affectionately.

“Leave off of him, dearest wife.” The thickly moustached man with the sparkling eyes bent in and nuzzled the slight pointed tip to her ear, the remnants of a long-ago elven ancestor. “Can’t you see that our boy is in love? He’s all aflutter with that first blush of romance.”

Wriggling free of her husband’s grip, Philliped’s mother rushed forward, pulling her son up by his hands. “Well why didn’t you say so, my silly boy.” She fussed, straightening the lad’s jacket and un-mussing his hair. “You take the afternoon off and go see your sweetheart, young love is a precious gift. Mind you’re back for supper though, my darling nightingale, to soothe the crowds with your sweet songs.”

Crediver Senior’s arms wrapped around his wife’s waist again, and he hefted her into the air spinning her away from their boy. “Run Philliped! Now while I have the matron hostage!” With his father’s booming laugh and his mother’s teasing protests behind him, the boy darted out into the street, heading to the edge of town at a full run. He knew that what waited him at the end of the path was a love as deep and lasting as the one his parent’s shared.

Just outside of town was a vast meadow, purple with heather and forget-me-nots. Wading through the long grass and fragrant flowers, Philliped sought his sweetheart. “Salee! Salee I made it!” Up ahead someone giggled, a joyful, girlish sound that struck him straight in the heart like a lightning bolt. He turned to his left, and saw a figure in a plain green hood duck around one of the trees at the edge of the meadow. He grinned. For several minutes the pair played run and catch in that twilight place between meadow and forest, until finally he caught his quarry.

The two tumbled to the ground on the meadow side, cushioned by flowers and thick meadowsweet grass. Reaching up a long fingered-hand, he brushed back the young woman’s hood. Here was his love Salee, with pale soft brown skin like new bark, and hair the colour of brand new daffodils. Some might find her pupil-less eyes and small, curling horns off-putting, but not him. They made her different, made her special. She smiled up at him, her tiny fangs flashing in the early afternoon sun. “Hello Philliped…” Salee’s voice was husky as she tried to catch her breath, face flushed with exertion and eyes sparkling with excitement. “It looks like you have caught me again.”

Rolling off onto the grass beside her, he entwined his fingers with hers, his face an enormous grin. “I still think you let me catch you.” He chuckled, free hand caressing the sparse growth of hair on his upper lip. “It’s the new moustache, right? All the girls are crazy for a man with a moustache.”

Beside him, Salee’s eyes flashed, and her hand tightened on his as she turned towards him. “All the girls’ best be looking elsewhere.”

Philliped chuckled, rolling onto his side so he could look at the tiefling. “There are no other girls but you, Salee. Every girl in the village could prance by in their knickers and I would still only see you. You’re the most beautiful woman in all the world, known or otherwise.” Her cheeks blushed darker, like burnished wood, and he traced the flash of heat with the calloused pad of one finger. “Sune herself could walk among us, and I still would dream of you at night.”

“Don’t you blaspheme, Philliped, it brings ill luck with it.” Salee leaned forward, gently brushing his lips with her own in a chaste kiss. “The likes of us don’t need the attention of the gods. That’s for heroes and those that have less sense. We’re content with just each other…” Salee paused, suddenly looking unsure. “Aren’t we?”

Philliped drew her close. “Of course we are, beloved. How could I need anything more in life than you?” The young human placed kisses all over her cheeks, her nose, and her forehead, gently holding her hand against his chest. “Feel this heart? It beats for you and you alone. You are my sweet sunshine, without you there is no joy, only darkness.”

Happy tears filled her eyes, and she clung desperately to him, returning his kisses with her own. “I… I think I’m ready, Philliped. If you are, I mean… This day is so perfect, I want to remember it forever…” Not certain what she was saying, the young man tilted his head to the side, watching her. Salee reached for the laces of her blouse, pulling them free and letting it fall below her breasts. “Make love to me here, Philliped. Here in our spot, in the flowers. Make this perfect day the best one of my life.”

Their love-making was not the stuff of legends. They fumbled, got caught in clothes, and there was almost as much giggling as there was whispered words of love. When they were both replete, they lay back, half-clothed and her head resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “I’ve never been happier in my whole life.” Philliped whispered into her hair, brushing a kiss against the smooth curve of one of her horns. “Marry me, Salee? Marry me so that I can spend every day as happy as I am now?”

She clung tightly to him for a moment, and then placed a small kiss right over where his heart was beating so loudly. “There is nothing I would rather do. Yes, Philliped. Yes.”

“Well ain’t this so precious it could make you gag?” A harsh voice broke their romantic reverie, the long shadow of a man falling over the pair of young lovers. With a startled squeak, Salee pulled at her top to cover herself.

Philliped pushed up, placing himself between Salee and the three coarse looking men. “Y-you best be moving on, you! Your kind aren’t welcome here!”

The first man ran a hand down his ratty beard, casting a glance back to his companions, another human and a wicked looking dwarf. “Now that’s not a polite way to greet your new owners, boy. Not with what we were paid to cart you away.” The man’s eyes darted beyond Philliped, to take in Salee who had gotten her blouse retied and had pulled her hood up. “No use hiding, demon girl. We saw them horns and plenty more besides.” He gestured to his men. “Take ‘em both, we seen enough to know the girl has value.”

Salee screamed, and the two bandits rushed forwards, harsh hands reaching for the two youths. As they were hauled to their feet, their struggles ineffectual against the much stronger men, smoke plumed in the distance, catching their attention. The bearded man grinned, stepping forward to catch hold of Philliped’s chin. “Don’t worry about going home, boy, there’s nothing left there but rubble. Not sure what your folks did to piss off your old uncle, but consider yourself mine for the rest of your natural life.” He looked over the struggling boy’s shoulder at his men. “Take the girl to Tim. He’s got a buyer who’s always looking for something a little exotic.” The man reached down, picking up Salee’s lute from the ground. “Our little songbird is gonna get settled into his cage. Shouldn’t take him long to figure out how to earn his supper.”


	2. Nori Frostbeard

The dreams started so simply, that she almost didn’t notice that they were unusual. The first night, she was standing in a snowy clearing, the dark forms of evergreens encroaching all around where she stood. It wasn’t quite dark, but there was no sign of the sun, and the wind blew bitter cold, frosting her beard. It was so cold that she awoke shivering, though the temperatures in the barracks were normal.

The second night she was in the same clearing, she recognized the shape of the trees, was able to make out the peaks of mountains in the distance. As Nori looked around, she realized she didn’t know the shape of those mountains, had never seen them in all her travels. Still, the idea that they were real mountains, which she could find in the waking world, was firm. No sooner had the thought entered her mind, she heard a faint sound. A mournful tune, soft like a panpipe played in the distance. Somehow it called to her, made her want to draw nearer. She left footprints in the snow. It was slow going, but just as she reached the edge of the woods, she woke up, the blaring call to arms dragging everyone from their cots.

The third night, she heard the music right away, as if she had been listening for it. With determination she set off, making it to the edge of the clearing and into the trees. They towered above her, and soon she saw nothing but thick trunks all around and the snow at her feet as far as she could see. The only difference being the line of footprints trailing behind her. Threaded with the music of the pipes, she could almost make out the sound of a woman’s voice singing. Slightly off key and off tempo, a strange but still pleasing discordance. The trees grew thicker, taller, and yet sparser. The snow was lighter here, blocked by the ancient trees. Under her feet, places of stone were taking over from the hard-frozen earth. And then she awoke, the morning bells dragging her from her dreams.

On the fourth night, though. On the fourth night she found the entrance to the cave. It was rough-hewn, but clearly carved by sentient hands as opposed to nature. The angles too square, the dimensions too precise. As a dwarf, Nori could sense the devotion with which this cave had been carved, the frenzied precision that had chipped away the stone. From inside came the woman’s voice, clearer now as she sang along to the always playing pipes. _The night wind is calling, calling my children. The night wind goes out, and calls you to me. The raven is calling, calling my children. The raven is calling, my child can you see. Look to the white mask, the white mask my children. Look to the white mask, and come here to me. Trust in the white mask, the white mask my children. Trust in the white mask, my child and you’ll see._ Cautiously, she stepped into the cave… And was abruptly awoken by a hand shaking her shoulder. Another dwarven face hovered above her, concern clear on the blunt features. “Nori… you got snow on your pants, but it ain’t snowing here. If anyone sees that, you’re gonna call trouble.” Sure enough, snow clung to the cuffs of her pants as she lay there in her cot.

The fifth night, she made it into the cave. The voice of the singing woman was all around her, unsettling and yet soothing at the same time. Inside, the floor of the cave dipped down, the walls that same, precise carving. She paused, taking a moment to run her fingers across it, feeling the cold of the stone, its contentment. The stone was happy, it was serving a good purpose here. As she moved towards the tunnel, something scattered by her feet, and Nori bent to find a single raven feather, black and perfect. When she held it, the woman’s voice grew louder, clearer, and the sense of welcome grew somehow stronger. She continued down, deeper into the dark. The stone and dark was warm, welcoming. Ahead, she could see the tunnel flattened out, grew wider, and there was a dim light emanating from up ahead. Of their own volition, Nori moved faster. Almost running by the time she hit the cave entrance. She could feel an overwhelming sense of urgency, as if she was running out of time… Once more, the morning bells woke her. Nori knocked snow off her cuffs, and saw the single feather, pristine and very real, sitting on her pillow.

Finally, on the sixth night, Nori walked into the cave and found the woman. She sat in a chair made of bones, the ground by her feat dotted with tiny gravestones, none any larger than the dwarf’s hand. Nori was spellbound, eyes trailing over the long black hair that seemed to flow around her from beneath a silver crown, the dark robes making the woman seem impossibly tall and slender. The singing and the strange pipes stopped, and the woman raised her face to look at the dwarf. Her visage was covered in a strange white mask, expressionless, and the eyes were made of a darkness that seemed to go on forever. The woman reached a pale, long-fingered hand towards the sturdy young dwarf, and in spite of herself, she stepped forward.

“Nori Frostbeard, I have heard your heart, across the planes that stretch between us. I have a task that I would wish for you to complete. In exchange, I will grant you what you need to break free of the life that binds you to a roll you are unsuited for.

It took a moment for Nori to find her voice as her hand raised, again almost of its own volition. “What do I need to do?”

“For now? All you need to do, is take my hand. All else will come to you in time.” Nori took a deep breath, and stepped forward, twining her short, calloused fingers with that of the lady. It seemed almost profane, her rough skin touching something so beautiful, but the woman didn’t seem to mind. Knowledge raced through her veins, and she knew that the woman before her was the Raven Queen, a goddess of death from a faraway land. She was neither good nor evil, she simple collected souls as there allotted time, welcoming them to the afterlife. Nori felt a strange power coursing through her, her mind filling with esoteric incantations. “Wake now, my champion. Danger comes.”

Nori awoke to find her file mate standing sheepishly behind their Captain, eyes averted. “You have been accused of unregistered magical use. You will be taken to the Judicars and processed as is appropriate.” The Captain’s voice was harsh, devoid of all sympathy. He reached a hand for Nori, and without thinking she raised her own in protest. A thick black whip of magical energy shot from her palms, striking the Captain so that he fell backwards with a shout. She looked around, for some escape, and caught sight of a small raven, preening its feathers by a door… inside the barracks? With little time to think, she grabbed her haversack, shoved her feet in her boots and fled towards the bird, hoping that she had made the right choice. Suddenly a sense of warmth eased around her shoulders. _I am here, my Champion. Follow the raven to Héniven._


	3. Grabnar

So at the foot of the Aukšti Kalnai, the mountain range along the border between the Aarakocran nation of Axlandriiy and the Dragonborn nation of Cuarysse, sits the last Stronghold of the orcs to hold any part of the mainland. It had been settled 120 years ago, the last time the drifting continent of Kror came close enough to permit travel between it and the main continents. The population strove to maintain their foothold in a country predominantly populated by Dragonborn and Lizardfolk. The highly stratified caste system that dominated the area stopped at their rough wooden gate, but they had fought hard for that right. They had all come from one conquering warband, a fearsome cadre of fighters and their support. The descendent of that original Warlord sat on a throne of bones made from their fallen ancestors when he passed judgement in the town square. Otherwise, they were, now, much like any border village.

Unfortunately, their numbers were dwindling. Their proud orcish bloodline was declining, and more and more of their citizens were the weaker half-orcs, than their massive full-blooded cousins. Still, they strove amidst the hill lands, eyes watchful along the treacherous coast, where sirens often roosted, and for some, one curious eye turned to the mountainous peaks, and the monastery of Planinski Vrŭkh.

His father had, at one point, been a Harper, a group of bards and spies. The influence of the Harpers had grown as the years progressed. They were instrumental and the separation of Ryet from Larusjeem, breaking away from the tyranny of the Church. With careful manipulation, they formed Ryet into a country for all people, and the diversity has bred further understanding between those that choose to leave their home. Less concerned with the approach of Kror, they instead work towards the issues inherent in the Three Continents. They work to break up the caste systems prevalent in Cuarysse and Axlandriiy, they fight the oppressive and expansionist military tyranny of Plenotitascont, and they work tirelessly to hold back the encroaching Darkness from Beneath, the cruel Underkingdoms of the Drow, Duergar, and other followers of Evil. 

His father had been near the end of his career with the Harpers when he met his mother, a warrior woman who followed the Crimson Path of the Temple of Planinski Vrŭkh. He had never been a small man, despite his preference to music and sneakery over outright combat, but she topped his height by a good two inches. They returned to the mountain range where she had been trained, her to reconnect with her roots, and his father to see what he could do about the caste system of the Dragonborn. Soon after, he was born, an abnormally large child, his mother had trouble bearing him, and died in the process. His parents had known each other for less than a year.

Less than six months passed before his father fell in love with a half-orc woman from the Stronghold. Father and child moved into her home within a week. Unfortunately, she was a much sought-after mate among the orcs, and your father found himself the victim of a poisoning. The orcs were horrified that one of their number would sink to such a method, and the offender was found and driven from the stronghold. The woman, Hoital, however, kept the child, loving him as a representation of the charming human mate she once had. When the child was two, she found herself a new mate, an orc from the stronghold, and bore him two fine sons. They raised all three boys together, and though the human lad took a little longer, he was soon as tall and strong as his brothers, able to channel the rage within him just as they did.

Then a large grey male named G'azab arrived at the stronghold. Rumour has it he came across from Kror as it drew nearer. He was accepted into the Stronghold, and within a week was challenging for leadership. He had great plans for changes there, calling back to a 'True Orc Heritage'. He was a nasty, aggressive creature, and relished the moment he killed the previous Warlord. Terrified for the life of her pale son, Hoital sent him to take a half-orc girl up to the temple on the mountain, and urged him that after he did so, to go out and explore the world.


End file.
